imagine

I imagine your soul, a dancing spirit. Pirouette, prance, glancing over a baseless lake, laden with lilies. The conscious stops the music, your hues still spin around and around amounting to the mounting mouthful of expression, especially when the lights are out. aurora, an aura of, an author of, arguably the most tranquility arthur has had. 

14

more sighs than smiles 

V

black

(loonar)

250,000 miles away, his shadow still fits perfectly in. at least the moon shows ivory. His smiles few and far apart, occasions for such niceties even more sparse. at least the moon shows that thin crescent of white, on either side of the cycle. pitch black if he sits back, sifts back, patterns of ills wherever he rests and thinks at. rooftop, knoll, porch, stained glass, pane everywhere. at least the moon shines bright, like, its the very center of his universe. accurate. his animal spirit if you wish. too similar. dark surfaces, disillusioned to be light and, gravitational pull, causing tides and, bare all, nair side, tuned out, pharcyde plans. he in his pensive feels like 4.5 million years of sin, about right. silent howls, calling out to better, higher, bigger than him. time is running away, each day, each night, 18th, responsibility and decisions nigh. ethereal how connected he feels. ebony, ivory, he smiles at the familiarity. dark side, lost cries. 

perspective

 

w

Dont shoot me down ma, 

Because I cant exactly expalin the ills of the feels of the eels that slither around this decision. Quick, sliver another line, the one youre threading on is far too thin, have you ever thought of the falling off? The fall is on like another summer waisted in your own tissues, wailing like free nyky! O'nion, nights are longer but that still dont mean the stars align like Orion. Old iron, these bars are aged aches the heart to know of such. Steady pacing waiting, wake me if parole's ready. sentence after sentence intense more in depth more indebted to myself.. i've said, screw it all, what's the sense, nothing is write like all typed, succumb, surrender. God as a witness there is hope. 

the unreal. One in a million, 7 billion, resting as if everyday was the seventh. Work. 

Reap of it. Reams of it. Reek of it. Leek of it. Third eye back to this very night, righting this very wrong, and ridicule the past ills of the feels of the eels that slither around the decision... That i took.  

what exactly are rules?

Coin vol. 5

Not face value.

The rose, the quintessential flower. The face of things of (the heart). The color of love, the color of blood. Pain and content one in the same. The most familiar and with time grossly underrated plant planned by God to be the face of the garden, i see God in ya. The sign of the valen- times, valiant effort to quell the mutiny, muted angst and amped frustration, the flora is negated. 

Cue the Canna. He likes things 'different'. Volume 2 of the minikui, strange fruits hanging from the edge of his wavelengths. Self centered and misunderstood. Self-served into his likelihoods. The weird appeals, then fear of being too opposite to act as if he operates in the realms of the normality. Thought, manifest of the the same. 

Lillies and orchids and lotuses and tulips. All flowers, all to leave (this earth for). All striving to be, the most uniquely described, the pommerac of the eye, he sees. But this is chosen recognize the worth golden, unspoken rhetorics rest in quiet and growing, admiration of the very special and delicate, with the gift of outside and inside eyes, studied as a subject, flow wrists, canna the instrument of an uncommon affection, predicate. 

Not many flowers bloom at the water's horizon, but the elements of the scenery make it just as scenely as Eden'd be. She sells him sails by the surety of a blossoming liking, the unique formation and texture and look and sensation of what he twirls like the whole world is in his hands. The very stone, throws close to home. Pocketed like a pool, encapsulated by the fabric of instant and also deep lying fascination, and in his mindstate, safe there, like combinations of his brain where, cay cay, key, lock.

Twisted as his thoughts may be, accept thst he believes MH370 is somewhere safe and sounds like the aforementioned self sent her to realize his enigma. Afflicted as his eyes mighht be, conceive his visions, the closest rumors to a lost soul undone. 

In a crowd of people he cares not of, only once would concern be given, for the plant, the rock, the spirit he's fond, a strange swan. Wands are for fairytales, so in real, sparks here and there. Acceptance. Ideals are separate and severed froms sectors of the usual, eyes, deal kindly as such. Grasp no matter the gasp of sharp winds wound and bound to be, cognizant of the the cogs of his ant,ique and not weak standpoint. The hour for Strength. 

MINIKUI AHIRU NO KO TENSAI

Atlas, atlas, at last. The ceiling caves, convex, concave, conclaves of thought forcibly revealed and brought to the fore. One of these things just doesn't belong. A tiger in the woods still be wrong. Punchy drums and country clubs that's a contrast and all of time passes bye like goodnight, Godspeed. Tupperware when supper's near but also slumber. take you along for a ride trade youth alone for these stresses, stretching, elasticity in the blue collar. I bet the dalai has no problems. A commoner standing in a complete circle, staring at all the corners. Cycle. Life life life life life, scythe. Flirt with the sight of the twisted black and white. Hmph. Too much for likings, could've been a lie king but wings far appeal greater. Shred falsities. Detach. 

goast

vol. 4.5, PenchantForTheBroken

SHARDS OF YOU.

pale needed.

Come lay your feet in the tub of your tears, hindered by the fare of the wait of tares from the ducks, aqua aqua. Masked by a false certain air, why Hyde? awkward awkward. The windows of the shops you pass by sea behind your very oculars, see your very obstacles, obvious. Inner voice? Toughen up soldier, no shoulders, no shrouding shred doubts douse those with doses of rouses, wake up as if you have won.

Come lay your feet in the tub of your sight's waters, the warmth truly, pedi-soothing, therapeutic, Losing, one self inside heaving sighs. Recovery, after being hit by sledges covering yourself… shield, scarred, average seal, expecting doom and Klum, hard, but a silver lining in every frown.

Come; lay your feet in the tub of realization. Accept your position, identify your options, set the wheels in operation. Return to safety, save thee, thine, thou, though, I mean, it is all a cycle. Siphon confidence, let it be.

Come lay yourself in time, in your own tide, steady raft hone crafts, home fast, own past present and to come.

Come lay your head in the tub of all things anew, re: birth. Selah Omega. 

Axel, vol.4

AXEL

Labryinth.

Vertigo. Abyss. I've been amiss. The natural, the pure. I've been among the different. Rare beams, scarce Diplo. Who or what is he? Eternal queries, he thinks hard., between a rock, the hangout is a quarry. Internal squabble. A tad bit of squalor. So the pen comes in to play. Jumbled in a jungle of limitless bounds bound by a pound of grey amidst an inking of green. Youth. aged. Fine by the vines, fruitful and seasoned. Knows better. Seize the moment. Cease the momentum. Sees all, seas roar, seeks tranquil. But only peace of the battlefield is revealed. Meat of the matter, veal of a madman. separate time zones, a drone in normal seconds, secondly sent on second, not belonging to anything worldly 2/4 of the hours. empty shelled, absent minded, mind you my mind moves music only. Muses of like things. 

Activities of the usual are things not used to him.  Polar, ridiculous. snowy space. xawmby. The intrigue, the mystery. polar, even within bare hands alcohol is clutched periodically, as such quests are flooded on a quest downwards, moods are one way streets. disappointment? his post, he's appointed. anointed in the sense. Well oiled mechanical fence. fends in self care. new beginnings however. New outlook. A bit of clouds on the onset. set-on when hyped. a recurring theme, fiend, feels, the lack of such things vaguely apparent.  the conflict, the 51, the 49, the 50, the 50, and other tightrope variants clearly land in the mental where its meant to.

distracting. moving so slowly solely so he sows these for growing soaked in soil... much more now a routine, a route in, root in, rooted. Cagey beginnings however, albeit forecasts have been drawn, one cast to perform. Prepared for stormy conditions. calmly awaiting the call of the middle passing. still only just a fraction of a fractured formation, untimely healing for the Achilles of the cycle. Hopefully corrected before detrimental effects affect the fetes to be attended, tended to by evasive maneuvers. sub-consciously faltering between the realities of ideologies created within the same mind, the equilibrium of life, the balance of such.

Fitting together the jigsaw while a jig is rendered saw the approval, frugal existence. complain, i shall not though. continue manufacturing the factors of a factory theory, put together in random and slightly precise sight. as the daze go by, more time is bought to see the clearing of the smog, and whilst not be seen as smug, i told you so just won't do. an eternally rough understanding of a focal point, somewhat a total point coined in joint relation. Ask about the axel. From the simple to the complex, from the the shack to the apartment.  

Terminal

Desolation. A frigid dungeon, luminous? hardly. any indication of light? must be the light and faint cries for aid, no sign of dia. the cold side of the moon. a common insignia. arctic sweats. but in every cloud there is a silver lining, and for every complexity there is a simpler writing. Omega Selah.

from the same streets that D Rose

yung ny

Vol. 3: Lutte Dans

LUTTE DANS

Prelude To War

The definition of fear, is what we all live in. Living in what is a constant, a given, robin. Thievery. Cheated out of peace. He, in front of the where the mic should be. Free him. patience, a demon in disguise, this way, this way, guided to putting off like putting on isn’t  what he should be doing, like putting out isn’t what he should be doing! Putting introspective measures into place plays vital these days, it seams… perfectly in line with the grain of laze streaking throughout. A constant wrestle, brawl, full brawn in brainwaves, shake of head when confronted. Soles stomping in soul, lone encounters reminiscent of dark alleys, Valley ways. Brutal, way this dilemma brews.

Blueprint

The issue lies in an area, a great and pivotal error, sowed in youthful green so soaked in with the loam of growth, an unnatural nature. Artificial ghost, extant, twisted along the threads of his actual spirit, common knowledge, practically beknown. Where did all the time go? Yesteryear! Reveal yourself; do not show him shadowy illusions or times bygone. Allow him the chance. Certainly inopportune to use the aforementioned demon against a weakened and lesser him, a him, finally caught on to always being caught off. Cause of death? Non-fulfillment. Half-hearted, never feels full. Cursed by the believers. Bereaved at the thought of such qualities, going astray. He must be blind. Simply that, in a sense when only sent to a meditation, all senses except sight on deck, on site. Then they all put their cents in. all a terrible vice, rests above his eyes, visors. Inside the depth of grays and blacks, doom and gloom and steel walls, the dimly lit den of all ideologies crude, reigns and pores.

Battle

An impractical and ultimately thin thing keeps him, them, us, we, all, enclosed. Think of it, fight the fear; of being oneself. He has sparred to the point of exhaustion, katana exalted, saulted through summers and winters, hand springs for evasion, falling down on faces. Wholly jaded, why such a stronghold? Why not just express? Let be. Let live. Become. Conquer. These schemes of the conscious should come as natural as the lines he types, as he writes, left in the cages and chains. Fear, the poltergeist. The eternal tormenter. Accompanied by the questions. Surrounded by the doubt. Fear, the instiller of timid spirits. Fear, the limiter. Fear, the everlasting winner. As long as he, and they, and them, conform to the tyranny. Break free. Uprisal. Retrieve, time lost. Confidence. Quality. Talent. Whatever be it. simply be. 

Beautifulove vol. 2

Beautifulove

Shake Spears free from wounds. 

And beauty is relative, but just look how close your genealogy runs. Once in my arms two no more and I’ve won, one is now a company. Bending the doctrines of normalities when normally hills and valleys wont vanish but the vamping swashbuckling knight likes when the elements are at his disposal. That being said, sense an ultimately pure pouring of pour in, not of eeyore, but likened to the joy of Turin, tuning into each other watching themselves grow. Flow endlessly into every second, not regarding the common guard of sparring off the quests and remarks.

 And the earth turns to meet the sun and is met by delicate lips, lingering this beautifulove upon the flesh. Jest not, the complex simplicity, rules without rules, commonplace, no roost without contact, come back, reach not. Silence the overlying theme, science being sidestepped for mystics minds read and  blind deaths. Kept, close in the part of the mind. Once again portrayed as a demi, phoenix is risen, ashes by the tonne. No worries however. The connection could be said with words worse an attempt at putting down even the most accurate representation of works.

Blinds given without an end, run along, don't dive in. sure, not 110 harmony, but the mad theorist, growing in his stature, implements another theory, magic.

 Connections are of an exquisite nature, explosive and implosive in store when a late stowaway is in place. And beauty is delicate. Frail hatred momentarily when he fails to make four or make two. Typical ride out, make it through. Phoenix from the flames does nothing to free him from the the fame fear not, the fare is worth it. time stands still when the rhythm is created and cremated in an ultimate passion, climb back after climb acts. undeniable. Kind of.

Hitches of course, glitches of course. A Barbie lifestyle? Barbed wire in reality. Barking, but dawg, what's better than imperfection? bars by society, but eye see bars of poetry, that's that beautifulove. Teaching while being taught, willing to learn, well into her. That's that midnight drop an album shit. Surprise and surf rides, whoa. No faux. Pride! N's joy. Bursts of content, not to be too corny but this maze is fun, why complain when the love is the run? Simplicity reiterated as if Sizzla revisited the prism of living, live in such a manner that woman nor man hurts, stick to the script as your cursive needs work.

Tranquil. Warmth, quilts. Wars, quit not. Walks,until feet move no longer.

Try not to get track 5, its vegas when played back, acidic if you sit still.

still, being tutored on how to care. How to include. How to ink lewd things on skin. White marks like wahlberg. Feeling anew, refreshed! constant motion in this rest. we'll see. 

Vol.1 :Bittersweet Poison

BITTERSWEET POISON

Candidates, candy lips, fiery, lukewarm, modest heat, candles to the son.

Eager, he'd love to say calm your Easter, but the center of attention is conflicted  At the back of his pensive. So a front is placed in-front of a frown, a ponder with aplomb. What to do, what to do. converse until dew falls. Converse until the moon stalls. Converse until he's dug himself even deeper in the mire. Admired more. I really and truly have no answers. Multiple choices. Skip questions because that's who i am. Because lengthening the rope might be the remedy, wrong. Longer ropes mean more folks meaning more devotion, leaving more uncertainty. Uncertain. Curtain call once more. So much sun and only 5'11" covered in skin. How much vitamins can a man take. Each taste is different, similar effect. Except. Who is right? All still left. Unless he becomes a fiend, a monster, a sharpened sword, no heads will roll. These walls will not erode. These wars will not be slowed. These thoughts will not go. Solutions. None without pain, none for equal gain.  More pondering.  More Ponche. Not even a liking of his but if it frees it, or freezes time, he'll oblige. More time to think. Ways out. Weighty. Serious contemplation. New developments make the task easier. But it shan't make the asks breathe either. Exclusivity is the name. Feels is the game. Single player scrutiny, as advertised by the comprehension of what eyes see. Facades over words, so he never trusts what is said. What is said. The same, the different. 

Purity to be manipulated, at his will. Well. These are all wishes, chances he ponders on. Coins are two sided, but scythes if he ever decided one sided. Flip it. Lay down the axe. Timber! Never mind the various timbres. By grace, he hoped it would be that easy. But hope among man is for fools. Soft spot in an empty and full heart. Steady decay, the cadence varies when the arteries barely, piece together. More of an understanding of perceptions, anticipations of motions, counter-attacking pre-planned motives. But the checkmate is elusive. Never drop the cards, although the grip is weary. Wearing no signs of bravery, a soldier trudges onward, wary of the opposition. Wherein, his steps are calculated, the margin of error is always a good percent or two, thereof. A Pharaoh in his own right, living as a commoner. Complements with the surroundings almost perfectly.  Almost. Only but a ruler though, not a deity. Remove this title, such a crown is un-comforting, please do not see my request as cowardice. Too good with words they say. Too good with words. Two good wit words, that's all it takes. Hence comes the throne. Let him turn it away, let him shun it. Because conceit is easy. Deceit is even easier. quite possible to break hearts without breaking a sweat.

 The decision may have taken the turn for the best, lets see the outlook. Inwardly still unsettled, no, no change. Keep lying.  Almost back to  the solemn room in the back of his head where he sat for three years straight. three years straight, knocks at the door. but like the fort, he is steadfast. ridiculous to the outer insight. but the peephole is fish-eye. skewed views. peeling layers, what is the fuss about? oh, another bout of faux pride. he wishes they'd see it really isn't so. but well. The grand meet. Granted, grande entrance. Both ways. Granted, eyesight fixed. Nevertheless, scales fared fairly well. No fear. Celebrations. Rave, rave, rays, raised. Then of course, rakes in a win. That familiar language. Swerving, the right way. Thank goodness for laws. Almost lost. Almost won. However, no resting on laurels. More answers than questions, extremely content as such.  Still, fine china, fine china. What art. What precision. How painstaking. Pieced together, and peace together. Seemed to gather at least. Moscow can wait. escape, tears for such things. Deep stares for such things. Easy actions, verse reactions. Another course? My. My mynd. My my. I'm told to delve, test the depth. yet still i remain deaf. Still silences where motions are concerned, active death. Opened doors to be social, wonderful opportunities. Spun webs of sticky silk since lobes need to be told. Wisps. Whipped some may say. Careful not to be rapped, what a cliche. Still gauging the new, the dilemma is present and imminent. Familiarity; a gift and a fucking curse. Ha. Small wars on known turfs. Victory is unsure, valiance is worn. For unknown wins. civil rest, or perhaps volcanoes hidden as dormant mountains.  He'll take the latter. Relative ease in easing off, relative ease.

And here come the sentiments. Sent in messages, but still heard. The last impressionist with the intrigue, with the mysterious allure. And peripherals now in the picture, but suppressed. The severity of implications would cause a surgeon his practice, so i practice calm. Steady hands in my own field, unless. If one stopped him and asked him, it would be as if he spoke with a lisp, that's what he ranks with. And the with the width of wings and wind we wind up still connected, but not the phys. Tres, quick success. Said succession. Still hinging. The hometown media should get prepared just in case. Not Justin, no sir. Far from it. Plummets further. Watch the season. Re-turns bring re-currencies. A new tide of current. A new wave, opposite of the first. Think not of the hour not present. Only the presence of the moment. conclusion close. Not elusive. Hesitant. But let's see.